


Worn (Out)

by ElectraRhodes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alana Finds Out, Knitwear, M/M, Screwed up chronology, Season 2, cashmere - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: It was a lovely cardigan. Cashmere, with maybe a little silk mixed in, just to give it a sheen. The colour a deep smoked amber of a decade old peat aged whiskey.It had pockets.





	Worn (Out)

**Author's Note:**

> A short from a writing exercise at Camp Wendigo... the prompt was ‘cardigan’.
> 
> With love and thanks to all the lovely folks at camp. And huge thanks to everyone being so patient during my my-papa-is-ill-and-it’s-awful writing hiatus. I hope to be back shortly.

3\. 

Alana shivered in the door way to Hannibal’s dining room. He glanced up at her.

“Chilly?”

She shrugged a little, goose bumps threatening her bare arms.

“It’s a little unseasonal.”

“Allow me.”

He stood, took off his cardigan, and then draped it around her shoulders.

She smiled as she sat down again, and he hovered beside the hallway that led to the kitchen.

“Would you like coffee?”

“I could stand a little warming up.”

His eyes creased at the corners in the echo of a smile, and after he’d disappeared into the kitchen she heard him open the faucet. There was the sound of a cupboard being opened and then closed. And then the faint noises she associated with Hannibal’s good kitchenalia. Probably that fancy machine, she thought. Great coffee. And a bitch to clean. 

She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the cardigan and then wrapped it round herself. It smelled faintly of Hannibal’s dry cologne. The soft cashmere warmed her through and she buried her hands in the deep pockets.

2\. 

Jack narrowed his eyes as he watched Will hand Hannibal a high-end store’s carrier bag. Whatever was going on there since the Tier thing wasn’t good. Only so far you could hussle before Prurnell called entrapment. 

He saw Hannibal peer inside the bag and then nod his head. 

He was still clutching the bag when he approached Jack.

“Will handing out gifts now?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“Gifts? Oh no. Merely the return of a woollen.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just carried on looking steadily at Hannibal. They both had something of a stubborn cast to their faces.

Still, Jack reflected, a cardigan wouldn’t be the oddest thing that passed between those two.

1.

Will looked at his hand in Hannibal’s as it was carefully washed of Randall Tier’s blood. 

“You’re shivering.”

“He came through the window. It took an hour to clear up all the glass. Had to get the whole thing boarded up. The dogs were freaked by the noise and mess. It was cold.”

He said nothing of the effort of cleaning the blood off the floor or of getting Tier into the car. Or of the grim sweat fuelled journey between Wolf Trap and Baltimore. Or of his momentary fear when there had been blue and red lights flashing in his rear view mirror.

“Let me get you something warm to put on.”

Will was doing up the buttons of his shirt sleeve when Hannibal came back with a soft cashmere cardigan the colour of peat aged whiskey.

Neither of them commented when Hannibal helped him into the sleeves and smoothed it up his arms and over his shoulders. Or on its softness, or the way it clung to Will’s bunched muscles. They both knew he wouldn’t keep it. Probably.

4\. 

Alana pulled the handkerchief from the pocket of the cardigan.

It was just a square of white cotton. Plain, and if she was honest, more than a little dull. Certainly not as elaborate as she expected from Hannibal’s usual wardrobe. She smiled to herself as she smoothed it out, as though she had caught him in a sartorial faux pas of some kind.

In the corner there were two machine embroidered initials. The kind someone might do for a dollar or two at a fair or show. One of those fancy preprogrammed sewing machines.

A ‘W’ and a ‘G’.

In the kitchen she could hear Hannibal still making the coffee. She stuffed the handkerchief back into the pocket and thought about what it could mean. Will’s handkerchief in Hannibal’s cardigan. 

When Hannibal brought the drinks through she couldn’t help the sharpness of her look. Though she gathered it in quickly enough.

He paused a moment and then nodded to her as he passed her her cup.

“You’re right.” He said. “There is a little frost in the air.”


End file.
